


Party Starter

by JayceCarter



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Destruction, Friendship, Gen, No Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 18:53:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11019465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayceCarter/pseuds/JayceCarter
Summary: Hancock is tired of Danse pining away for his old life, so he decides to help him in the way only Hancock could.





	Party Starter

Hancock hid from the sun beneath the cover of a tree. He didn’t burn but fuck, his eyes didn’t care for the light. He blamed it on being a ghoul, but Nora would roll her eyes and say it was the cocktail of chems he was always on.

 

But he refused to blame the chems, felt like kicking his best friend. It had to be the ghoul eyes. Maybe he’d steal a pair of Deacon’s sunglasses, see if that helped.

 

Across the way, Danse leaned over his power armor, shining the shit like maybe if he did a good enough job, Maxson was gonna come on down and beg him to rejoin. Sweat made his shirt cling to his skin, catching the light, but Danse didn’t notice. He never noticed, too focused on his mission.

 

The kid needed to learn to relax or he was gonna end up falling over from heat stroke.

 

And wasn’t fun exactly Hancock’s job? If Deacon was their resident spy, Nick their father figure, Danse their stick up his ass fun-killer, well Hancock’s job was the troublemaker.

 

He pulled his hat down to shield his eyes as he crossed the road to where Danse worked. “Hey, tin can.”

 

Danse’s shoulders tightened. He wiped his arm across his forehead before turning to face Hancock. “What do you want, freak?”

 

“Doing the rounds, checking in on people, ya’ know, mayoral shit.”

 

“You aren’t a mayor here.”

 

“And you ain’t brotherhood, but here you are, cleaning that shit.” Hancock nodded at the suit of power armor. “Guess we’re both stuck in the past, huh?”

 

Danse straightened then turned his back on Hancock. He picked up the wrench and went back to working on the leg piece. Did he think ignoring Hancock would make him go away?

 

Poor kid.

 

And, yeah, he knew Danse wasn’t a kid, but something about him always made him think that. It was the lost way Danse moved through the world, like he didn’t know how he fit, like wasn’t sure about himself. Reminded him of a kid who showed up to a party and didn’t know anyone.

 

Hancock hopped onto the workbench beside the Power Armor. “Left leg shocks are shot, brother.”

 

Danse yanked on the wrench, the grinding of metal the piece’s only protest. “What do you know about power armor?”

 

Hancock swung his legs as he looked over Danse’s shoulder. “Nothing.”

 

“Then how do you know the shock is bad?”

 

“Because I saw Deacon fucking with it yesterday.”

 

Danse froze and had the look of a man who wanted to throw something. He sucked in a breath before setting the wrench down way too gently and standing. “Why would Deacon do that?”

 

“Because I told him to.”

 

This time Danse turned to face Hancock, face red, hands drawn into fists. Hell, maybe this would turn into a brawl. Wouldn’t that help pass the day?

 

When Nora was gone, Hancock found himself getting into trouble. The town just ran so fucking perfectly. Fucking boring and Hancock didn’t deal with boring well.

 

“And why would you tell him to break my power armor?”

 

“Something to do. There might have been some alcohol involved.”

 

Danse muttered something so low Hancock didn’t catch it, but was pretty sure it was Brotherhood for ‘fucking asshole.’ Out loud, he said. “Please refrain from messing with my power armor in the future, alcohol or not.”

 

“Why do you still take care of it?”

 

“It requires maintenance.”

 

 “Not like that, it doesn’t. You’re scouring that shit like someone’s gonna eat off it. You ain’t Brotherhood anymore; no one’s gonna inspect it.”

 

Danse leaned over Hancock, like he wanted to remind the ghoul just how much larger Danse was, that the small, thin ghoul wasn’t much of a threat. “Trust me, I know I’m not Brotherhood anymore. You do love to remind of it.”

 

“Because I don’t think you know. I think somewhere in that brain of yours, you think if you keep this up, they’re gonna come beg you to come back. Ya keep polishing that fucking thing because you think it’s gonna make shit different. Ain’t happening, you’re just another freak now, like us.”

 

Danse reached out and wrapped his fingers in Hancock’s shirt, jerking him forward.

 

Hancock let it happen. Danse wouldn’t kill him, not like this. Yeah, he might kill him someday, but not in Sanctuary. Nora would be disappointed and he didn’t like disappointing her. She was the last person in a chain of command to tell him what to do, and he craved that, he still needed it. Funny how easy he was to read.

 

“You stay away from me, freak.”

 

“Don’t flatter yourself, crew cut, you ain’t my type. I like ‘em fucked up, but you’re too far gone even for me.”

 

“Why are you bothering me, then?”

 

“Because, like it or not, fucker, you’re one of us. You’re out here killing yourself in the heat for some stupid fantasy where Maxson gets on his knees and begs you to come home. But, fuck you, because you already got a home here.”

 

Danse’s hand tightened, his lips tilting down, eyes locked on where he gripped Hancock’s shirt. “It’s all I have left.”

 

“Really? Cuz if you opened your eyes, you’d see a hell of a lot more around than that hunk of metal.”

 

“Like what? A junkie ghoul?”

 

“Yeah, one who is letting you manhandle him right and not shoving a knife between your ribs, so you better fucking appreciate it.”

 

Danse sighed and released his grip, one finger at a time. “I don’t know what else to do. That suit is everything I dedicated my life to.”

 

“Bullshit. That suit represents assholes who threw you away, and every time you’re out here fixing it up, you’re letting ‘em have more of your life that they don’t fucking deserve.”

 

“What else am I supposed to do?”

 

Hancock grinned. “Oh, let me teach you, kid.”

 

 

#

 

“God damnit! Where’s Hancock?” Nora rubbed her fingers against her temples, trying to ease the headache that had started the moment she’d gotten back.

 

Preston pointed toward the house near the end, but offered nothing else. He probably didn’t want to draw any of her anger for himself.

 

She loved that ghoul, but fuck, he was going to give her an aneurysm. She leaves for one day and comes back to find this? He was like a child.

 

A drunk, high, swearing, destructive child who carried around a shotgun.

 

Nora shoved the door opened and stormed in. Fuck knocking. “What the hell were you thinking?”

 

“Hey, sister! Welcome back.” Hancock’s voice floated over from the other side of the couch, like he was laying on the floor behind it. Not that it surprised her, Hancock didn’t manage furniture well when high.

 

Which was all the damned time.

 

“Don’t you fucking sister me, John. What the hell did you do to Danse’s power armor?”

 

“I got no clue what you’re talking about.”

 

“His power armor is in a million pieces outside.”

 

“Oh, that. Yeah. I did that.”

 

She took a deep breath at the glee in his voice. “Did you use a grenade or something?”

 

Hancock’s hands gripped the couch and he finally stood. His stupid grin told her just how gone he was, which was really fucking gone. “To start with? Yes.”

 

“Danse is going to kill you, and I’m going to let him. And to start with? You’re telling me a grenade wasn’t enough? What the hell else did you use?”

 

Hancock looked down. “The fuck was that thing?”

 

Danse stood then, a matching chem-fueled grin across his face. “Partystarter.”

 

Hancock slapped Danse’s shoulder, then grabbed his arm when he started to go over from the hit. “Partystarter! That was it.” Hancock looked over and Nora, still smiling. “It was the Partystarter. That did the job.”

 

Nora opened her mouth then shut it.

 

The two men giggled, like children. As annoyed as she should be, something about seeing Danse smiling warmed her. He’d just been so withdrawn since leaving the Brotherhood. Figured it would be Hancock’s bad influence that managed it. But, hell, they could blow up half of Sanctuary if it made Danse smile like that.

 

Not that she’d tell Hancock that, he’d take advantage.

 

Finally, Nora collected herself enough to lecture them without joining in on the laughter. “No blowing shit up in the settlement. You want to blow shit up, take it outside the walls. And when you both sober up, you’re going to be out there cleaning up the mess.”

 

“Well, good thing sober ain’t never going to happen,” Hancock said and went to hit Danse in the arm again. The motion caused Hancock to pitch forward, against Danse, and they both went down into a giggling mess.

 

Nora shook her head and walked out, choosing to ignore the burned, twisted remains of Danse’s power armor.

 

Sometimes a little destruction was good for the soul.

 


End file.
